...gah.Chuck O'Donnell. I was 15? Or 16? I think just barely sixteen, because it was the winter of my junior year in high school.

He had long dark hair and glasses, wore a leather jacket, and had previously dated two of my best friends. We had been friends for quite some time, through the relationships he'd had with my friends at any rate and a little bit before that besides, but how we came to be kissing on my living room floor, I really can not recall.

It was warm. And wet. I really hadn't the faintest clue what I was doing and kept repositioning my head because I couldn't figure which way was best. He kissed with his teeth, which didn't impress me in the least.

It's been so long since we last spoke or saw each other that his image is fuzzy in my mind and almost morphs into that of my ex-husband, who also had long dark hair and glasses. He did not kiss with his teeth, however. Thankfully, far from it.

Kissing is an act which has always perplexed me. Not to say that it can't be highly enjoyable; I'm definitely a fan, but how on earth did we evolve as a species which does this? It serves no purpose but pleasure, unlike any of our other bodily responses and functions which have physical pleasure hardwired into them so that we want to do them and do them a lot. Ensured reproduction of the animal and all that.

But, where the fuck did it come from?

There's has to be a program or documentary, some kind of National Geographic bullshit I have an undying love for watching (it rivals that of my devotion to SciFi- excuse me, SyFy- originals), out there that explains this.